Chapter 1 : Part 1

A Sundog Moment
by Sharon Baldacci

What do you do when your whole life changes in an instant?

Now, from Sharon Baldacci, a dazzling new voice in the realm of fiction, comes a poignant novel of love and loss and faith redeemed ... a starkly beautiful story about what can be found on the other side of a broken heart.

Lovely, talented Elizabeth Whittaker knows she leads a charmed life. Married to a man she's still passionately in love with, the proud mother of a daughter who's just gone off to college, she embraces each day with gratitude ... until the moment everything goes terribly awry.

The onset of her symptoms is sudden and terrifying: the dizziness, the disorientation, the dawning realization that she no longer has command of her own body. When the doctor comes back with the diagnosis, one word reverberates: incurable.

Elizabeth Whittaker has multiple sclerosis. For this vital woman and her family, the shock is absolute, the fear overwhelming. Embarking on a journey she would never have chosen, Elizabeth now faces tough physical and spiritual challenges-and when her search for relief creates a moral dilemma, the choice she makes threatens everything she holds dear.

But God doesn't make you go it alone. Even as she questions her most intimate relationships, Elizabeth bonds with others: the physician struggling with intolerable grief, the cousin coping with betrayal, the friend who refuses to let her disease define her and who gives Elizabeth new purpose and strength.

Yet it is her priest, Father Wells, who tells Elizabeth about the sundogs, the halos around the sun that herald a change in weather and also serve as signs of hope. The image of the sundog helps Elizabeth endure-and, finally, in the midst of her pain, find surprising moments of grace and joy ... from a merciful God who never fails.

Inspiring, authentic, and profound, A Sundog Moment could have been written only by one who knows first-hand what it's like to suffer from a catastrophic illness. Within these pages, Sharon Baldacci triumphantly demonstrates that nothing can defeat you as long as you hold fast to your faith.

Chapter 1

The dance floor was crowded with tuxedos and sparkling evening gowns, creating a breathing, living organism of excitement; it was New Year's Eve at the large corporate building that housed Whittaker Industries, and the collective ensemble glittered like a bevy of Christmas gifts waiting to be handed out.

Leaning against the rail of a balcony overlooking the party was a stunningly beautiful woman, Elizabeth Whittaker, who wore a seductive black evening gown. A hint of a smile adorned her face as she felt the enthusiasm and energy generated from the people down below. A man in a tuxedo inched close behind her.

"Dance with me," he commanded, putting a hand on her arm. She moved slightly away, her eyebrows rising disdainfully. "I'll have you know, I'm a married woman."

His smile deepened. "Believe me, I love married women," he assured her, "especially-"

Her interruption was curt. "I'm sure you do. I'm sure you have several silly married women just dangling, thinking you have eyes only for them."

"No"-he held up a hand-"I was only going to say that I especially love . . ." He looked hard at her.

She waited, watching him before she finally prompted impatiently, "And what do you especially love?"

"Not what, who," he corrected. Her eyes narrowed as she drummed her fingers against the top of the rail. Finally, she sighed. "And whom do you especially love?"

"The woman I'm married to," he murmured, seeing a reluctant smile start to glimmer in her eyes. He leaned closer, but she twisted away so she could look straight at him for a long moment. Then, just as quickly, she pulled his head down to whisper directly into his ear.

"Scoundrel!" The voice was throaty and sensual and made his knees weak. Then her lips fastened on his for a kiss so loving and deep it made him slightly dizzy.

Below them, a small orchestra lifted instruments in a fluid motion on the conductor's cue and began playing; within moments the room was filled with a dazzling array of movements flowing with the timeless rhythm of the waltz.

"Dance with me?" She smiled, dazzling him all over again.

"Whatever you want, you've got it," he said helplessly. Hand in hand, they ran lightly down the stairs.

Once they swept into the crowd, it wasn't long before everyone began voluntarily moving back to watch the grace and grandeur of this special couple, a man and a woman who had adoring eyes only for each other.

Their movements intimately in tune, Michael and Elizabeth Whittaker were so enchanted by the beauty of the music and each other, they had no idea they were the only ones left on the floor. They were the center of attention, but had no clue until the dance ended and spontaneous applause erupted. Startled, they looked around, bewildered.

He merely laughed with pleasure, while Elizabeth's hand flew to her face. Still holding hands with his wife, Michael ducked into one of the hallways to escape, wanting some privacy. Elizabeth's face was pink; she had totally forgotten she was in a public place. How could she still feel like a newlywed after being married to this man for so many years? Michael's face beamed.

He was consumed with the pleasure of knowing he was exactly where he wanted to be with precisely the right person. Life was good, so very, very good. Still laughing, he led the way into his empty office.

The door was soon firmly shut and locked.

Elizabeth, now relaxing, smiled back at Michael, knowing there was no place in this world she would rather be than here, with her very foolish husband. Her color deepened at the way he was looking at her. He loved it that after so many years of marriage she was still vulnerable enough to blush.

"I love you, Mrs. Whittaker," he said softly, holding her closer and closer. She held up a hand against his chest.

"And I think . . . ," she whispered, looking at him and then dropping her eyes to his mouth.

"You think?" he asked, doing the same.

"Yes, I think I might be able to . . ." She breathed deeply as he pulled her closer.

"You might be able to . . . ," he prompted, kissing her forehead.

"To say . . . ," she whispered, her voice low, her breathing shallow.

"Say . . ." He leaned closer, breathing in her fragrance.

Copyright © 2004 by Sharon Baldacci

About the Author

Sharon Baldacci was diagnosed with MS twenty-one years ago. An award-winning journalist, she lives in Virginia with her husband and two sons.